Zarif's Convenient Queen

Zarif’s reminder was unnecessary because Ella was painfully aware that her parents’ future security was reliant on what she did next. He had gravely offended her but he was the one in the position of power, not she, and, while she refused to grovel, she also saw that she had to fully defend herself to clear her name. ‘I’m telling you the truth. I’m not guilty of any of it. I would never go to a sex party. I’ve been set up for a fall and horribly slandered in newsprint.?

?

‘If you are certain that this is the case, I will sue,’ Zarif asserted, dark golden eyes welded to her flushed and indignant face with satisfaction. ‘But be warned, if I do sue any intimate secrets you have in that line will inevitably be exposed by the proceedings.’

‘I have no such secrets,’ Ella parried curtly, sucking in a deep sustaining breath. ‘My conscience is clean as a whistle. You go ahead and sue.’

‘Should I be prepared for genuine disclosures to emerge from any of your former lovers?’ Zarif enquired between visibly gritted teeth.

CHAPTER FOUR

ELLA’S EYES GLINTED. Of course she could have told Zarif the truth that she had yet to have a lover but he didn’t deserve that revelation. Her eyelids lowered secretively while a smile that was amused, but came across as saucy, unexpectedly curved her lips. ‘No. In that line you’re safe. I’ve always been cautious about who I choose to date.’

Zarif’s gaze burned gold when he saw that smile because he was convinced that she was fondly recalling one of her lovers. He breathed in slow and deep. He was not the jealous, possessive type—what was the matter with him? Other men had slept with her, discovered the secrets of that slim, curvaceous body, listened to her cries of pleasure... Get over it, he told himself impatiently, fighting the tide of destructive X-rated imagery threatening to engulf him. ‘This has been a most unlucky start to our wedding day.’

‘Yes—’ Ella shrugged a careless shoulder ‘—but let’s not pretend it’s a real wedding day or that we’re people who care about each other like a normal bride and groom.’

His nostrils flared. ‘I can assure you that it will be a real wedding and that I do care about your well-being.’

‘Not convinced...sorry about that.’ Beneath his disconcerted gaze, Ella lifted a slender hand and screened an uninterested yawn in a disdainful gesture as she moved towards him, keen to show him out of the house. ‘If you’d cared, you would have offered me support and felt angry on my behalf.’

Even less accustomed to censure than he was to scorn, Zarif squared his sculpted jaw. ‘That is unjust. How would I know whether it was the truth or not when I haven’t had any contact with you for years?’

Unimpressed, Ella raised a delicate honey-coloured brow. ‘Do you think you could leave now so that I can have breakfast and go do the bridal stuff?’ she asked sweetly.

Zarif shot out a lean brown hand and closed it round her wrist to stop her in her tracks. ‘You will not speak to me like that or try to dismiss me like a servant,’ he told her angrily.

‘Does that really matter as long as I go to bed with you?’ Ella asked in a brittle voice. ‘Do you honestly also expect me to be servile like some sort of medieval sex slave?’

Zarif glowered down at her in seething frustration. She was being childish, her immaturity spelt out in cheap gibes and he was tempted to shake her. ‘Stop it.’

He towered over her, so close that she could smell the faint spicy tang of designer cologne that was achingly familiar to her. Suddenly tears stung the backs of her eyelids as a tide of almost forgotten memories threatened to drown her: deceptively romantic moments three years earlier when he had held her hand, given her thoughtful little gifts, listened carefully to her concerns, acted in a way that was protective and caring. And it had all been a lie, she reminded herself bitterly, because his true feelings for her had gone no deeper than a lusty desire to take her to bed and ensure that she became conveniently pregnant with the required son and heir.

‘Eleonora...’ Zarif chided huskily, running his finger down her cheek to trace the path of an escaped tear. ‘You’re upset, angry.’

Ella looked up at him, involuntarily enthralled by the beauty of his dark fallen-angel features, the sheer richness of his stunning amber-gold gaze framed by luxuriant ebony lashes. She shivered, inordinately aware of the brush of his finger across her cheek. ‘Don’t—’

‘I must,’ Zarif growled hoarsely, his hand dropping to her chin to push it up to enable his mouth to come down with hungry driving dominance on hers. Taken by surprise, Ella reeled dizzily, mouth opening to receive the erotic plunge of his tongue. He tasted so wonderfully good, a knot tightened in her pelvis and she gasped, feeling the scandalous dampness of desire surge between her taut thighs in treacherous contrast to her anger with him. The comparison shocked her and broke through the mesmeric power of his mouth on hers.

‘No, don’t,’ Ella protested, squirming against his lean, powerful frame in a manner that only stretched his control thinner than ever.

‘Tonight you’ll be mine,’ Zarif pronounced with unashamed satisfaction, lifting her up against him as though she were a doll and planting her on the edge of the table, pushing her knees apart to stand between them, leaning forward to thrust his aroused body into the apex of her thighs.

Tingling awareness bubbled like a volcano low in her body. Her bright blue eyes widened, pupils dilated as she stared back at him because for once they were on a level. He had sinfully sexy eyes. Her top felt scratchy and uncomfortable against her tender breasts and her breath was catching in her throat. A voice was screaming in the back of her mind, telling her to get a grip, but what kept her still was the warm liquid melting sensation steadily spreading through her lower limbs and most pressing of all, at its pinnacle, a downright unbearable physical ache for the fulfilment she had never known. ‘And you’ll love every moment of what I do to you,’ Zarif forecast hoarsely.

Ella heard his voice through the wall of sensation caused by the outrageous stroke of the long, lean fingers encircling her hips just below her top, the touch of his fingertips across her skin alerting her to an innate sensuality she had not had the chance to experience with him before. She could feel his erection through the fine barrier of his pants and the knowledge that she aroused him even in her pjs and without make-up was ridiculously empowering. She struggled to draw another breath past her tight throat as he pressed his mouth hungrily against the tender skin between her neck and her shoulder and her head fell back without her volition, a tiny gasp escaping her parted lips.

His hands slid up beneath her top and cupped the full globes of her breasts and excitement sent her heart racing so fast she felt light-headed. The surge of heat and wetness between her thighs as he tugged at her straining nipples sent shockwaves through her as his mouth found hers again with a raw passion that thrilled her. Her hands clutched at his arms, nails biting into his sleeves, frustration hurtling through her that she couldn’t touch him the way he was touching her.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry...!’ The sound of her mother’s voice and the door opening and closing again in fast succession roused Ella from her sexual stupor as nothing else could have done. She opened her eyes, not even recalling when she had closed them.

Infuriatingly, Zarif had regained control first and had already stepped back from her. She clashed with burning golden eyes and snatched in a shuddering breath, her face crimson as she acknowledged what she had allowed to happen between them. And when she was furious with him too? That was the most galling admission of all: that Zarif could touch her and every other consideration could simply melt away.

‘I will see you later, habibti,’ Zarif murmured tautly, a flush lining his hard cheekbones.

Ella slid off the table like an electrified eel and hauled open the door. Her mother beamed at her from the hall. ‘The beautician’s here and you haven’t had breakfast yet,’ she fussed. ‘Will Zarif be staying?’

‘No...’ From behind her, Zarif took over the conversation with effortless ease and not the smallest hint of discomfiture.